


All Those College Au's....

by anticupid16



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: College AU, College Student Derek, College Student Stiles, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-31
Updated: 2016-01-02
Packaged: 2018-05-10 14:05:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5588971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anticupid16/pseuds/anticupid16
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of quick one-shots using a College AU post from Tumblr and some personal experiences...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Congratulatory Coffee

Dead week was, as everybody knew, an utter joke. But Derek was still bitter every semester when he found himself sitting through class after class in which the professor really had nothing to say—nothing that would be on the final anyways—and only wanted them to do homework so that he had an excuse to force them to come in. Most students saved up their two to three unexcused absences until dead week so they could skip the classes that meant the least, so the lecture hall that could seat about 100 people that Derek was trapped in for the next two hours had barely an eighth of the class present. 

He had his notebook open on the desk beside him, a pen in hand that he hadn’t even bothered to uncap while he pretended to listen to the professor, who was rambling about his own field work amongst the Amish (of all the cool Anthropology professors of course Derek ended up taking the one that did his field work with the freaking Amish). Really he was trying to absorb all of the info on the PowerPoint slides he had lining the screen of his laptop.

Derek’s archaeology of Israel class was entertaining and absolutely exactly what he wanted to do with his life, but the identification parts of the exams always got him. He may be able to write an entire thirty pages about the anthropoid coffins of Beth Shean but put a pottery sherd in front of him that was black and red and he would probably spend an hour staring at it trying to decide if it were Khirbet Karek or Mycenaean IIIC only to find out it was Philistine Bichrome. 

“Hale? You seem to be looking at your notes pretty hard, perhaps you can tell me what it is that Tocqueville said that might apply to this situation?” Derek looked up, wide-eyed, in panic. The professor was standing right in front of the deserted front row, only a few seats ahead of where Derek sat. The hard set of the prof’s mouth told Derek that he was so damn busted it wasn’t even worth coming up with a bullshit answer. He opened his mouth to stammer out a lame apology, but before he could, he heard a door creaking open. 

Everyone around him shuffled in their seats, turning around towards the back of the hall where the doors were to crane their necks and either see the poor sap who thought the room was empty or the late comer to class. But Derek, because he was frozen in his seat, staring up at the professor, could see that the door that had opened was the fire exit down at the front by the controls for the projector. 

Of course the door was taped—this particular lecture hall was rather popular with the freshmen who hadn’t bought themselves TVs yet and wanted to have movie nights, so it was locked at night—so the alarm didn’t go off. The student sauntered forward, seemingly unaware of everyone else in the room. Derek recognized him; he sat near the front most days and answered questions when other people didn’t but usually with antagonistic answers instead of the ones the professor was really looking for. Now, with all the eyes of the classroom finally on him, he smirked widely despite the fact that he looked like he hadn’t slept in two days. The guy was in his pajamas, for Christ’s sake. Baggy red and black plaid pajama pants and a t-shirt that was more coffee stain than it was cotton. In his hand was a sheet of notebook paper, which he proceeded to slap onto the pile the professor had made on the table in the front of the hall. 

And then he fucking saluted. He lifted his hand to his brow and saluted the professor, offered a peace sign to the rest of the class, and walked right the fuck back out of the classroom through the same exit door. “Well,” the professor said, his voice weak with shock. “After Mr. Stilinski’s rude disruption, I think we can return to the topic at hand.” He turned back to face the class and started discussing his fieldwork again, in the same monotone. Derek’s transgression was apparently forgotten, so he went back to studying his archaeology slides. 

Not that he did a good job of that, since he could hear his classmates whispering and snickering and he could only guess they were still talking about the Stilinski Disruption, as it would be known in the Anthropology department from then on. He couldn’t keep his mind from wandering to the incident, replaying it in his mind and forcing himself not to laugh out loud about it. The professor let them out nearly forty minutes early because nobody was paying attention anymore. 

With the extra time, and his head swirling with pictures of pottery sherds and pillar figurines, Derek decided he deserved a hot, fresh coffee from the student center. Usually he used his own secondhand coffeepot that produced a disgusting sludge that perked him up thankfully after only a couple of sips. But he had a few points left on his meal plan and could probably get away with a small coffee. With caramel. And cinnamon. He had a few dollars of quarters in his bag still from the last time he’d done laundry, he’d figure it out. 

Derek fixed his scarf over his nose when he left the building, knowing that the wind was going to rip right through him. There was snow swirling over the brick sidewalks, and everyone was walking quietly with their faces towards the ground to keep from slipping on ice and dying before they could finish their finals. Derek followed suit until he reached the side door of the student center that let out right into the coffee shop. He reached the door at the same time as someone huddled in a sweatshirt, who apologized over the howling wind and held the door open for him to go first. 

Once inside, Derek turned to say thanks and watched as Stilinski lowered his hood. He should’ve recognized the pajama pants. “Hey,” Derek said, oh so eloquently. The guy quirked an eyebrow up and tilted his head. 

“Hi? Do I know you?” Oh. Well, the lecture was a big class, so Derek guess that made sense. 

“Um, yeah, I’m Derek? Derek Hale. I was in Professor—“ 

“Oh yeah! You were the guy getting reamed for not paying attention when I came in today!” 

“Well, I wasn’t—“ 

“I was outside the door waiting for the opportune moment,” Stilinski said, grinning and making some sort of hand gesture that Derek supposed he was meant to understand. “He was getting on your case for not paying attention, wasn’t he?” Derek nodded shyly. 

“He completely forgot about it after you came in, though. That was pretty ballsy by the way. Was that the homework?” 

“It was indeed. I wasn’t about to get a zero on that shit when all we had to do was turn it in!” 

“You know you could have come to class in the first place.” 

“But where’s the fun in that?” Derek couldn’t help but laugh with him. “By the way, I’m Stiles,” and now Derek was shaking Stiles’ hand and offering to get him a congratulatory coffee. Stiles accepted, telling Derek that he loved being treated to coffee by hot guys and winking in perhaps the most geeky and endearing way possible. 

It had taken all of what was left on Derek’s meal plan, plus a couple of quarters for the two coffees heaped with whipped cream and caramel and cinnamon. Totally and completely worth it to find out that Stiles wasn’t an anthro major at all, but was taking the class for a core requirement. He was an energy tech student, and since one of Derek’s favorite anthropology professors taught a couple of the environmental ethics classes in Stiles’ major they discussed that for a bit. 

“Ah crap, I really need to get back to studying,” Stiles said after realizing that his coffee cup was officially empty. They’d grabbed one of the hidden corner booths that was still empty—even though most seats in the student center were occupied twenty-four seven during dead week—and Derek was incredibly cozy. But now that he was looking at his watch, he realized that he also needed to get back to the world of sherds and basalt. 

“Hey, well, it was nice to meet you. Hopefully we’ll have another class together so I can see you barge into the last meeting of the semester and derail everything?” Derek tried not to be hopeful. 

“Yeah, that could work. Or,” Stiles said, producing a pen from the pocket of his hoodie and reaching for Derek’s wrist. Before he could protest, Stiles was scribbling a phone number on the skin there, wrapping around underneath the band of Derek’s watch. “You could call me after your last final and we could get something a little stronger than coffee.” 

“Only if you promise not to wear pajamas.”


	2. those weirdos in the elevator

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles sometimes sets challenges for himself and bullies his friends into joining him.

Scott and Stiles were hosting their usual weekend movie night. It had been Scott’s idea the first time, and slowly they had accumulated a motley crew of friends who’d rather spend their Saturday camped out on their shag carpet than at the frat parties. Erica and Boyd were sitting on Stiles’ bottom bunk, sprawled out so that nobody else could sit with them. Scott was in his desk chair, Stiles sat on Scott’s bunk, peering over the railing at the TV below. Isaac, Allison, and Lydia had managed to squeeze themselves onto the two-person chair that Stiles had bought off an upperclassman. 

So when Derek finally dragged his ass down from his room—which was literally down the hall, he had no excuse for being late—there wasn’t anywhere to sit but the floor really. But he brought with him two bowls of piping hot popcorn, one that he passed to Stiles who’d made grabby hands the moment Derek had come in. 

“Thanks,” Stiles told him around a mouthful of buttery salty goodness before Boyd reached up and snatched the bowl away. 

“What is this?” Derek asked, eying the screen where Gerard Butler was being shot at on an airplane. 

“Dracula 2000,” Scott announced. “Erica said it sucked so we’re watching it to prove her wrong.” Derek looked over his shoulder at Erica, who rolled her eyes and shrugged, which was good. Stiles was tired of hearing this argument, which Erica and Scott had been having all week. Erica had a whiteboard on her and Cora’s door and had asked her floormates to write their favorite Halloween movie down. She’d added the responses to her Snap story, and one of them included her making fun of the person who wrote Dracula 2000. Scott had taken major offense. 

Most of the movie went smoothly, though Erica and Scott got into an argument partway through (Erica called it “Gerard Butler’s shitty Phantom audition” and Scott got offended enough that he spilled his soda and while he mopped it up he continued to fight with her). And when the movie ended, they realized they could hear an obnoxious loud ringing sound. 

“No, not again,” Stiles groaned, and the mattress of the top bunk creaked as he hopped onto the side railing, climbing down to the ground. Before anyone could ask, Stiles had flung the door open, letting the ringing flood the room. Yep. The elevator door was stuck open, and the screeching of the stupid box of death was telling them that it was going to be open all night. Just like the last three times this had happened. 

“Hey!” Lydia protested, covering her ears with her hands. 

Stiles groaned again and slammed the door shut. The ringing fell to a dull sound beyond the door, and a few seconds later it stopped. “Again?” Allison asked, patting Lydia’s hand. 

“Jackasses keep getting the elevator broken and it gets stuck here,” Scott explained to a very confused looking Isaac. “The ringing turns off after a few minutes, but bells will go off every like thirty minutes afterwards until maintenance can fix the elevator.” 

“God I’m glad I don’t live in this decrepit hall,” Lydia told them all primly. “Overflow housing is the worst.” 

“Thanks for reminding us,” Stiles grumbled, collapsing like a rag doll beside Derek and taking a handful of popcorn without asking. “At least you’re far enough down the hall that the ringing doesn’t wake you up in the middle of the night.” 

“I’d rather have ringing than be sexiled by Peter again,” Derek told him, which made Stiles laugh. He kept forgetting that had happened. 

“What should we watch next?” Scott interrupted, offering up his DVD collection and promptly getting into another fight with Erica over why for the love of god he had The Sorcerer’s Apprentice. 

The movie night ended shortly after they finished watching Pirates of the Caribbean—at least they had all agreed on that. Allison and Lydia wanted to get back to their dorm before it got too late and the partiers returned, and Isaac had work in the morning. Stiles had gone ahead and propped the door open with a painted brick that they used as a doorstop. When it beeped again, Stiles heard a clatter by the sink and saw that Derek had dropped the cup he was putting away. 

“Man, the elevator won’t get closed until morning,” Scott complained. 

“Tough luck,” Boyd told Stiles, patting him on the shoulder as a goodbye. “Glad I live on the second floor.” 

“Thanks,” Stiles told him sarcastically, shooing him out the door. 

“Look at that thing, a gaping hole into the mouth of hell,” Stiles said, crossing his arms and shaking his head. “It’s huge!” 

“Dorm elevators have to be huge, how else would they get furniture up and down?” Derek asked, coming to stand beside Stiles. 

“I bet you could lie down in it, completely laid out too,” Stiles said, scratching his chin. 

“What are you going to do, sleep there?” Scott asked from behind them. 

Stiles grinned, turning slowly to look at Derek, and then Scott. “Dude, no,” Scott groaned. 

“Dude yes!”

“I’m getting out of here before you two do whatever it is you’re planning,” Derek grumbled, pushing past Stiles’ shoulder. 

“Oh, because you don’t want any part of the awesomeness?” Stiles challenged. He watched as Derek actually paused in the threshold, glanced towards the open elevator and then back at him. “Knew it.” 

“What is it you’re planning?” 

“I want to sleep in the elevator.” 

“You want to sleep in the elevator?” Derek asked deadpan, and Stiles thought he saw some sort of spasm cross his face. “Why do you want to do that?” 

“Because it’s college! We do crazy things like sneak onto the roof of the Old Gym, pick the lock on the observatory, and sleep in the open elevator!” Derek still didn’t look convinced, so Stiles stuck his tongue out and reached for the blanket he had left draped over the back of his desk chair, swinging it around his shoulders as a cape. “Either join me on my crusade,” he said, affecting a voice that he hoped imitated an old-timey knight, “or return to your sexile.” 

Derek grimaced and Stiles knew he had won. He climbed up the side of the bunk bed and grabbed his pillows, tossing them down to the floor before grabbing his quilt as well. “There,” he said, offering the quilt and one of the pillows to Derek. “We’re all set!” 

“You’re crazy is what you are,” Scott told him, but he was grinning and did he seriously think that Stiles didn’t see that he was turning on the camera of his phone? 

“Adventurers,” Stiles stressed, grinning wildly and Derek actually led the way to the elevator, right as it beeped again. 

“If anybody asked, you forced me into this under threat of life and limb,” Derek muttered, tossing the quilt down and stretching out on it, looking pleasantly surprised. “You’re right, we can fit in here.” 

“Knew it,” Stiles said triumphantly, sitting cross-legged with his blanket cape still wrapped around his arm. He leaned against the wall underneath the panel with all of the buttons, stretching his own legs out and setting his feet on Derek’s stomach. Derek immediately pushed them away, but Stiles just put them back again knowing he wouldn’t push them away a second time. 

“And what, pray tell, are we doing in the elevator aside from sleeping?” Derek asked. Stiles frowned. Yeah, he hadn’t thought of that. 

Stiles fished his phone out of his pocket and opened the YouTube app. “You ever see the international liquor taste test videos from Buzzfeed?” 

Eventually, Stiles managed to call out to Scott and convince him to bring out his laptop—and his oh so thoughtful best friend had also brought them a box of cereal and some sodas—and he and Derek continued to watch Buzzfeed videos until Stiles looked over and found Derek was asleep, slumped into the corner of the elevator. 

Smiling to himself, Stiles returned to his own spot, closer to the doors, and huddled down into his blanket cape, muting the videos and turning on the captions. His quiet laughter must have been louder than he thought it was, though, because after watching almost all of the Buzzfeed Violet videos he found Derek’s grumpy eyes peering down over the top of the laptop. 

“Sorry dude,” Stiles whispered, lowering the screen. 

“Go to sleep,” Derek mumbled back to him, checking the time on his phone. “It’s like two.” 

“Sorry, not my usual bedtime,” Stiles said, grinning. Derek narrowed his eyes and took Stiles’ laptop, despite his protests. “Hey, not cool bro!” But Derek had already shoved it into the far corner of the elevator where they wouldn’t smash it with their feet and was shoving Stiles quite firmly into his pillow. 

“Sleep,” he commanded, hiking Stiles’ quilt up to his nose and putting his own head down on the pillow. 

“You’re lucky you’re attractive because you’re a major asshole, you know that?” Stiles grumbled, but he didn’t move from his pillow and blanket, despite the fact that Derek manhandling him had put some major butterflies in his stomach. 

“And you’re lucky I’m accepting that as a compliment and not kicking you out of this elevator right now.” Stiles pouted. 

“Derek,” he whined, reaching out from under his blanket to shove Derek’s shoulder. 

Derek caught his hand, and for a second the look in his eyes was enough to make Stiles gulp in straight up fear. But then Derek just closed his eyes again, without letting go of Stiles’ hand. Stiles tried to tug it out of his grip, but Derek kept still and so Stiles gave in to the reality that he was never getting his hand back and this was his cosmic punishment for annoying his super hot friend. 

“Nighty-night Derek,” Stiles whispered, grinning when Derek opened up one eye again sleepily. 

“If you stop bugging me and go to sleep I’ll let you borrow my hoodie with the big pockets so you can sneak snacks into Professor Deaton’s class.” 

“Deal!” Stiles whispered triumphantly, and he closed his eyes and started focusing on going to sleep. He even managed to forget that Derek was still holding his hand as they both drifted off to sleep, the elevator’s occasional noises lost on them.


	3. Scott Hates Me: The Memoir of the Former Stiles Stilinski

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of sleeping in the elevator because apparently things have consequences?

Stiles was delightfully warm, which had to be a mistake because the building’s heat hadn’t come on yet and so the dorm room was always drafty and he was always a little chilly. But here he was, all toasty and whatnot, and he was wondering why when he heard a distinctive throat clearing. 

“Scott, what do you want?” he groaned, adamantly refusing to open his eyes. Whatever it was that his roommate wanted to discuss could be done so later, he had warmth to bask in. 

“Stilinski. Hale. Up, now.” That wasn’t Scott. In fact, Stiles was pretty sure he recognized the voice as his RA’s. Why was his RA in the room? Stiles’ mind flew immediately to the toolbox he stored under the bed that had two bottles of whiskey in it instead of the actual tools, which were haphazardly strewn over the top shelf of his closet. 

Stiles sat up and managed to bang his head against something—actually against someone’s chin. It was at this time that Stiles remembered the elevator debacle, and realized he was sitting very particularly close to Derek, who was staring over Stiles’ head with wide eyes and bunny teeth all around. 

Turning slowly, Stiles realized that his RA was standing in the middle of the doors, keeping them from shutting. A few guys from the floor were standing in the hallway outside, snickering and waiting for the hammer to fall. “Morning?” Stiles said tentatively. His RA—Jordan—was a relatively chill dude. Everyone knew the story by now of the freshman the year before that Jordan had managed to calm down from a full-scale panic attack. Respect was to be had. 

“Do I want to know what you two are doing in the elevator with blankets and a laptop?” Jordan asked, sighing exasperatedly. Stiles’ cheeks felt like they were on fire. 

“Would you believe that Scott kicked me out of the room and Derek was here as moral support?” Stiles asked. He could tell by the way Jordan rolled his eyes that he would not be believing that. 

“Well, the elevator is fixed so I’m going to need you two to relocate. People actually use the elevator for moving between floors usually, not for sleeping.” 

Stiles and Derek both mumbled some sort of affirmative, snatching up the pillows and blankets quickly. Derek handed Stiles his laptop without so much as a glance up and they slunk out of the elevator and past the other guys—most of whom were now making jokes just loudly enough for them to hear about getting drop-dead drunk (which wasn’t the worst thing they could be joking about if Stiles was totally honest). 

“Please don’t let me catch you doing this again,” Jordan called after them. Stiles quickly turned the knob for his room and walked in. Scott was awake, perched on his bunk with a textbook and looking in their direction with a decidedly dastardly smirk. 

“I hate you bro,” Stiles told him firmly, tossing his pillow and blanket up onto the top bunk. Derek followed suit, refusing to meet his eye. “You okay?” Stiles asked him. 

“Crick in my neck,” Derek responded, immediately heading out the door again presumably to return to his own room. As soon as the door was closed again, Stiles distinctly heard Scott chuckle. 

“What’s so funny?” he demanded, opening the food cupboard and eying the assortment. He could use the electric kettle to make some oatmeal or he could eat a smores flavored Poptart and he knew exactly which one he was going to do, in fact the silvery foil was already in the rubbish bin and he was back to narrowing his eyes at Scott. 

“I saw you and Derek cuddling in the elevator,” Scott informed him smugly, closing his textbook and tossing it aside. Stiles may have choked on a bite of graham crack and chocolatey goodness. 

“We weren’t cuddling, I’d know if His Hotness himself had been cuddling with me.” 

“Well you were. You were cuddling when I left to get breakfast, and you were still cuddling when I got back.” 

“And Jordan didn’t say anything because?” Stiles asked, drawing out the syllables, though he was unable to keep a flush from creeping up his neck. 

“He’s nice enough not to make fun of his residents for cuddling in the previously broken elevator,” Scott said, shrugging casually as if this were such a commonplace discussion. “Though I bet the rest of the floor won’t let you live it down.” 

Stiles groaned and dropped his head into his hands—unsuccessfully so because he was clutching a Poptart in each. The last guy on the floor who’d gotten caught doing something lovey-dovey had been giving his girlfriend flowers outside his bedroom door and the floor had taunted him, put paper flowers on the door with pieces of romantic poetry tied to them, and Stiles may or may not have assisted with breaking into his room with the lock out key and filling it with vases of fresh flowers taken from the business center’s offices. 

“You might be able to suffer together if you, I don’t know, asked him out?” Stiles couldn’t move his head. He eagerly awaited the swing of an axe or a nice sharp sword to just end it there and then. 

“Scott there are at least nine finely crafted reasons as to why I can’t do that. At all.” 

“Well then I’ll just text him and let him know he should ask you instead,” Scott taunted and Stiles immediately looked up to see that his traitorous ex best friend had his phone in hand and was in fact typing a text. 

“No!” he shouted, lunging across the room, but he fell short and Scott hopped up on his own desk, before smirking down at Stiles. 

“Looks like I sent it,” he teased in a sing-songy voice lowering the phone so that Stiles could see the horrifying text for himself. Bro, Stiles has a crush on you. 

“I actually hate you,” Stiles said, groaning and slamming his face to the floor. His own phone chirped, letting him know he had a text. 

“I wonder who that could be.”


End file.
